


thursdays at adil's

by hippocampers



Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 15:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12301752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocampers/pseuds/hippocampers
Summary: “Make yourself at home. When did you say your mum finishes at work?”Jimmy sits heavily, allowing himself to sink back into the cushions. “She works late shifts on a Thursday, so about 2am, I reckon.”“Blimey,” Adil says, brows raised as he shrugs off his blazer and loosens his tie. “No point heading back then; you may as well stay the night and head over to yours to grab clean uniform in the morning."





	thursdays at adil's

“Thanks for having me,” Jimmy says, slipping off his battered trainers and setting them aside neatly in a way Adil’s sure he wouldn’t do at home. “Can’t believe I’ve forgotten the bastard key.”

“It’s no problem. Mum cooks for 20 anyway,” Adil grins, hanging up his coat and holding out a hand for Jimmy’s. It’s a second before Lockwood catches on, and his cheeks pinken just slightly as he hurries to remove the garment. “It’s vegetarian, though. You don’t mind?”

Truth be told, Jimmy’s grateful for anything more than beans on toast. It’s been tight recently, and his mother’s skipped meals aren’t escaping his notice. Nor are the repetitive meals from a tin. But Adil doesn’t need to know that. “No, that’s great. I’ll eat anything, me.”

“Good,” Adil chuckles, opening the door on the left and gesturing for Jimmy to walk through. The living room is tiny, but cosy. There’s pictures on the mantelpiece and each of the walls, endless family photos with seemingly more people in each one. It fills Jimmy with an odd longing, a sense of loneliness. To his knowledge, there’s only two photos in his flat; his first school picture hanging haphazardly above his mother’s bed, and the rare family photo of his mum and dad the day Jimmy was born. That one’s not on display, instead tucked into the back of his worn copy of _Peter Pan_. IF she knew he had it, Jimmy’s mum would burn it, he’s sure. “Make yourself at home. When did you say your mum finishes at work?”

Jimmy sits heavily, allowing himself to sink back into the cushions. There’s about six on this one chair alone, each cushion cover hand-crocheted to match the décor. “She works late shifts on a Thursday, so about 2am, I reckon.”

“Blimey,” Adil says, brows raised as he shrugs off his blazer and loosens his tie. “No point heading back then; you may as well stay the night and head over to yours to grab clean uniform in the morning. I’ve got some clean pyjamas you can have. An aunt bought them for my birthday but they’re hideous, so they’re still in the packaging if you want.”

Jimmy shrugs. He’s not fussy. Beats sleeping in a crumpled school shirt. “Yeah, alright. Cheers.”

-

That night, he ends up lying in Akthar’s bed – Adil insists the blow-up mattress on the floor is comfortable enough, and that he fancies the change. Jimmy’s not thick, but he doesn’t push it. “That’s honestly the best food I’ve had in weeks. I’m stuffed,” Jimmy says into the darkness, and grins at the snort of laughter he gets in response.

“I’ll tell mum, she’ll be delighted,” Adil tells him. “Bit different from what your mum cooks, I bet?”

Jimmy hesitates before replying; “My mum doesn’t really cook.”

“Sexist of me, sorry,” the other laughs. “Your dad, then.”

“My dad’s gone. Buggered off three weeks after I was born.”

Silence for a moment. He can almost hear Adil scrambling for some words to fix it. “Ah,” comes the other’s voice, finally. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. He was an arsehole anyway,” Jimmy brushes it off, but he’s sure Adil doesn’t miss the way his voice cracks. He hates talking about home, reopening a wound that never seems to heal. After a moment of saying nothing at all, Adil takes the hint.

“So, you sorted out another ending for Hector tomorrow?”

“Not a chance,” Jimmy scoffs, but he’s grateful for the change of topic, and the cover of darkness that hides the way he scrubs at his eyes furiously. If Adil notices the waver in his voice, he’s kind enough not to point it out.

-

When next Thursday rolls around, Jimmy finds he’s “forgotten” his key again. The idea of staying in the library as long as possible is briefly entertained, but by 6, he’s changed his mind. He turns up to Adil’s house with a sheepish grin. To his credit, Adil acts surprised.

-

The Thursday after _that_ , Adil invites him over before they go their separate ways at the end of Blackhurst Lane. “Mum’s upped her game and decided to cook for 42 now,” Adil tells him, not meeting his eye. “She’s already put some in a Tupperware for you to freeze and I’m not cycling it over, so you best be there at 5.”

Jimmy smiles. He’s on the doorstep at half past 4, and true to her word, Mrs. Akthar’s got a week’s worth of Channa Pindi portioned into tubs on the counter. On Friday night, Jimmy’s got tea on the table for them both when his mum gets in. There’s more than enough to go around.

-

After that, Thursday nights at Akthar’s becomes routine.

He stops even going home first, instead packing a clean uniform in the morning walking back with Adil to the Akthar household on a Thursday night.

It’s… nice. He’s always gotten on with Adil well enough – they all have, he’s a laugh – but this feels different somehow. Without the other lads to overshadow him, Jimmy sees more of the true Adil, adding another layer to the other boy. He’s sharper than Jimmy gives him credit for, and funnier too. Sly humour and quick wit that gets lost in the group setting is suddenly on show, and Jimmy feels oddly privileged to witness it. It sparks an unfamiliar sensation within him, one normally reserved for pretty girls at coffee shops – or, very briefly and secretly, Harry Walters from two years above. He doesn’t mention it to the others, not even Timms. Can’t risk them knowing he’s sweet on _Adil_.

Slowly, Jimmy learns more about the family too, bits that Akthar doesn’t necessarily mention at school. His parents speak fluent English, but primarily converse in Punjabi at home, meaning Adil does too. It shocks Jimmy at first, being lost in this house where everyone speaks a language he doesn’t. He’s unused to being left out like this. But Adil must say something, because on Thursdays, everyone speaks more English and offers translations if he asks. Akthar’s mum is fond of him, giving Jimmy extra portions and telling him he looks too thin for a growing boy. He wonders if Adil’s said something about that, too. More often than not, she’ll send him home with a week of food, asking only that he returns the Tupperware next week. Nida – the youngest, and most tactless of the Akthar siblings – lets slip that she sets a portion aside for him out of each meal she cooks. Unsure what words to use, Jimmy settles instead for a tight hug next time he’s got the chance. It’s enough, and Mrs. Akthar says something in Punjabi that he doesn’t quite catch. It makes Adil’s cheeks redden, though, so he doesn’t ask.

He sees the worship too; Adil explains that he’s no longer as strict a Muslim as he used to be, but that he still takes part in _salat_ with his family. It’s strange to watch – intimate- to the point that at first, Jimmy finds himself averting his gaze. But soon enough, curiosity overtakes him, and Jimmy watches in awe, the beauty of it overwhelming. Often, though, he’ll slip away unnoticed, and wait in Adil’s room instead. There’s a feeling of being the only dancer in a troupe who doesn’t know the moves.

There’s a certain beauty in other things too that he’s never really seen before. Like the way Adil rolls his eyes and gives Jimmy a certain look every time his youngest sister starts up a tantrum, or Adil’s unbridled laughter that only makes an appearance at home. The comfortable silence as they read and write essays together at the kitchen table, or the easy banter they share in the dark late at night. The snores that fill the room and damn near deafen him, but a reassurance that he’s not alone. The way Jimmy feels like he wants to share parts of his life too, an urge that’s never really been present before. The desire for an ambiguous _more_ that scares Jimmy too much to contemplate.

“You alright?” Adil asks, grinning as he re-enters his bedroom following the fifth prayer of the day, breaking his train of thought. Jimmy’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. He’s already in the pyjamas he leaves at Akthar’s, the leg ending just above his ankle but soft and warm nonetheless. The mattress dips as Adil sits at the end, stretching his arms up above his head and accidentally revealing a sliver of skin at the hem of his jumper.

A shock of heat makes its way straight to Jimmy’s stomach.

There’s a certain beauty in _Adil_.

“Um. Yeah,” Jimmy nods, smiling absently and looking anywhere but where he wants to. “Good prayer?”

“Fine, yeah,” Adil laughs. “Sure you’re alright?” He twists to look at Jimmy now, tucking one leg underneath him. His head’s tilted to the side in concern, and it’s ridiculous that something so tiny makes Jimmy breathless.

The aching desire for _more_ is back, and without voluntary exploration, Jimmy knows what it’s really for. More than friends, more than sleeping in the same room once a week. More than Jimmy’s ever had before. And he can’t have it. He’s not used to that. There’s usually nothing to lose. But now? Now Thursdays are the highlight of his week, now his stomach is used to a real meal once a day, now he learns a new Punjabi word each week and tries to use it the next. All of that is something to lose and Jimmy’s not sure he could bear it.

And yet.

“You’ve gone quiet, Jim,” Adil nudges his leg with a toe, brow crinkling just a little. “Has something happened?”

“I dunno,” he gets out, voice croaking embarrassingly. Now or never. “Do you ever-“ Jimmy stops himself, shaking his head.

“Do I ever what?”

“Do you ever want something, badly, that you know you can’t have?”

Adil shrugs. “Sometimes. It usually passes. When it doesn’t… I learn to cope.”

Jimmy squeezes his eyes shut. Not the answer he’d hoped for, though what that answer would be he doesn’t know. “What if you can’t cope? What if you want it more than anything, but if it goes tits-up, you’ve lost the best thing in your life?”

“Jim…” Adil hesitates, reaching out a hand to touch Jimmy’s own. That’s new. “What’s going on?”

Jimmy’s eyes have fallen to their hands, to Adil’s fingers resting atop his own. “This is… the best bit of my life now. That’s stupid, isn’t it?” Jimmy glances up, meeting Adil’s eyes with a strange desperation. Adil shakes his head.

“No-“

“It is, though. Forgot my bloody key and now I never want to leave here. I’m more comfortable with you than anywhere else, and I _don’t understand it._ ” Adil goes to speak again but Jimmy cuts him off. “Look. If I did something stupid, would you hate me?”

Adil gives an odd laugh, like things are clicking into place. “How stupid? Yanking my arm off – yeah, I might do.”

Jimmy laughs brokenly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Stupid like making a move on you.”

“Oh.” Adil pauses. Jimmy barely hides his wince, starting to pull away, but then Adil’s fingers are linking with his and Jimmy can hardly breath. He turns over his hand, so their palms pressed together. His own is sweaty, but there’s a vague hope that Adil won’t notice. “No, I- I wouldn’t hate you for that. Far from it.” A pause. “Thursdays are the best bit of my week now too.”

His heartrate rockets up, but Jimmy can’t find it in him to care. “Right-o,” he manages. “That’s good to know.” And then he’s closing the space, awkwardly leaning forward across the bed to inelegantly mash his lips against Adil’s, easily the worst kiss of his life. That is, until Adil’s kissing back with a touch more grace, and shuffling to make the angle less painful.

When they pull apart, Adil is flushed and panting just a little, and Jimmy’s got a smile on his face that he doesn’t think will leave for weeks. “Bloody hell, Jim,” Adil mutters, rubbing the back of his neck in a mirror of the ever-bashful Scripps. “You can do that again.”

Jimmy does.

-

Next Thursday, the blow-up mattress stays tucked under Adil’s bed. It’s much nicer, Jimmy finds, to wake up next to someone. Even if they do snore loud enough to wake the dead.

**Author's Note:**

> i love you all and i love these lads.
> 
> this is for thb fictober - a fic every sunday!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](eponymousorange.tumblr.com)
> 
> comments keep my shrivelled heart beating


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